North of the island's mana pool, the coast of Monsun is more or less intact and in line with how it was, which makes a good half of E2's surface area ocean. The coastline swings crookedly north in a spread of scrambled woodland. The trees look strange, and cobbled together, as though different deciduous species have been grafted onto one another. Meadowgrass spikes out in odd spurts, interrupting what should be unbroken stretches of bramble. Less surface area means less likelihood of those dark spots that are now being uncovered on Monsun with alarming frequency. Unfortunately, adventurers won't be spared that anomaly here.
The western part of the region plays host to a swirling dark that threatens to swallow anyone who treads into it. It seems harmless, other than the startling appearance of the thing - like this part of the island has simply been scooped away, and left nothing at all in its wake. It radiates an unmistakable icy chill should one venture too close, but it doesn't seem as though it can effect any other lasting damage, aside from maybe the risk of frostbite.
With the coast at your front and that strange and whirling void to your backs, you might want to hurry along. You probably don't want to be stuck between a rock and a hard place when your very worst selves decide to come home to roost.
Another remnant of Ziziphus's native population can be found here, nesting in the trees; whatever is affecting the landscape doesn't seem to have concerned them in the slightest. While plenty of arboreali have relocated to Ensō following the destruction of their home, it seems that others ventured here, as well. It's a good thing, too, given that arboreali plumage often boasts a wide array of flowers that are nothing if not useful. Medicinal plants can be groomed from their "feathers" or, if you happen to not care to return, simply plucked with ruthless abandon. They are also edible to an extent, but given that their plumage frequently sheds and regrows, why waste a potentially renewable resource? Given their unique physiology, all they require is water and sunlight to thrive, the same as any flower.
Most arboreali are rather solitary, and don't tend to travel in flocks, but something about this region seems to have attracted a rather large number of them. They do, however, notably steer clear of those pockets of peculiar void; even animals don't seem to want anything to do with them.
MONSUN - E2 | ѱ PREY
North of the island's mana pool, the coast of Monsun is more or less intact and in line with how it was, which makes a good half of E2's surface area ocean. The coastline swings crookedly north in a spread of scrambled woodland. The trees look strange, and cobbled together, as though different deciduous species have been grafted onto one another. Meadowgrass spikes out in odd spurts, interrupting what should be unbroken stretches of bramble. Less surface area means less likelihood of those dark spots that are now being uncovered on Monsun with alarming frequency. Unfortunately, adventurers won't be spared that anomaly here.
The western part of the region plays host to a swirling dark that threatens to swallow anyone who treads into it. It seems harmless, other than the startling appearance of the thing - like this part of the island has simply been scooped away, and left nothing at all in its wake. It radiates an unmistakable icy chill should one venture too close, but it doesn't seem as though it can effect any other lasting damage, aside from maybe the risk of frostbite.
With the coast at your front and that strange and whirling void to your backs, you might want to hurry along. You probably don't want to be stuck between a rock and a hard place when your very worst selves decide to come home to roost.
Another remnant of Ziziphus's native population can be found here, nesting in the trees; whatever is affecting the landscape doesn't seem to have concerned them in the slightest. While plenty of arboreali have relocated to Ensō following the destruction of their home, it seems that others ventured here, as well. It's a good thing, too, given that arboreali plumage often boasts a wide array of flowers that are nothing if not useful. Medicinal plants can be groomed from their "feathers" or, if you happen to not care to return, simply plucked with ruthless abandon. They are also edible to an extent, but given that their plumage frequently sheds and regrows, why waste a potentially renewable resource? Given their unique physiology, all they require is water and sunlight to thrive, the same as any flower.
Most arboreali are rather solitary, and don't tend to travel in flocks, but something about this region seems to have attracted a rather large number of them. They do, however, notably steer clear of those pockets of peculiar void; even animals don't seem to want anything to do with them.